Home Games All LiteraryClubs Forums Green Room Poetry Prose Roleplays

The Map Maker

Jiggity · 2007-04-22T03:57:50Z

Within a nest of charts and diagrams, Phyllis Brook bumbled about, mumbling to himself. He was never at rest, filled with a restless, frenetic energy that saw him propelled all about his small shop. Maps, in all their wondrous variety, covered the entire building. Beautiful, antique, hand drawn maps; exquisitely detailed, lovingly made examples of a burning obsession. The bell above the door tinkled suddenly, rooting the old man to the spot. His head whipped around, pinning the unfortunate boy with his gaze. It was hard to say who was more surprised: the man, at being interrupted in his latest creation, or the boy, at being confronted by a little old man with electric blue eyes and a head of white hair that stuck up every which way. The stalemate lasted a few moments more. The boy nodded at him, breaking the spell, and entered the shop. He was an oddly serious child, the mapmaker could see, dressed in a maroon and grey school uniform. His blonde head was glancing around, fascinated by all the maps. Phyllis smiled, uneasy. "Hello there, young man. What can I do for you?" he said, hands wringing nervously. His loose, dry skin shrivelled with each passing caress, liver spots rolling. "I'm meant to be doing an assignment for school," the boy said, by way of explanation. "On maps," he added. The old man beamed. "Well then you've come to the right place, lad, yes indeed! Oho!" He was all but clapping with glee. "The name is Phyllis," he said, shaking the young boy's hand. His hand lingered, at the feel of smooth, creamy flesh. He turned away, back to the recesses of the room. "My name is Tim, sir, pleasure to meet you," the boy said to Phyllis' retreating back. He thought nothing of the old man's reticence, more interested in what the shop had to offer. He walked over to the wall on the right, where a large map was hung like a tapestry. Hills, trees, mountains, individual cottages were all shown in striking detail. The material it was aged with fine cracks, but somehow, was still soft to the touch. It felt familiar somehow. Above the plains, in large fancy writing it said: Lycrea. He frowned. He hadn't ever heard of such a country. So intent was he on the map, that Phyllis' approach went unnoticed. "I have maps of every country and every world," Phyllis whispered in Tim's ear. The boy jumped, a small shriek escaping his throat. "What the hell! You shouldn't sneak up on people," he said, heart pounding. The old man blinked, surprised. "Did I scare you?" he asked, a sly look on his face. "Dear me boy, you should have heard me a mile away. No matter, I can see you have a fine appreciation of my work," he said. Still wary, Tim nodded. "Yes, they're quite lovely. And very old: were they passed down to you?" he asked, enthused. "No, I made them all." This statement was made with pride, as if daring the boy to challenge him. "This one in particular," Tim continued. "It says Lycrea, but I've never heard of such a place and the material... I've never seen anything like it." Phyllis stared at the boy, eyes lidded. For the first time, he stood completely still, seeming to gather himself. "You can see that, can you?" he said, licking his lips. Puzzled, Tim nodded once more. Phyllis placed the book he had retrieved from the back, on a cluttered table nearby. "Not many people can see the truth," he said, walking to the door. He locked it, turning back to face the school boy. "Such individuals are unique." "Why did you lock the door?" Phyllis came over toward the child, kneeling so they were face to face. He smiled at the boy's fear. "Lycrea is a far off place, lad, a much distant world," he said, ignoring the question. "And the material this map is made from, ah, it is a fine thing indeed. It lasts the longest, as you can see, but alas, its usage has long since faded in this realm of men... till now." He grinned, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed. When had it gotten so dark? "I want to go home now," Tim said, backing away from the mad old man. "I'm afraid its too late for that, Timmy," Phyllis said, herding the boy calmly into the back room. "I specialise in unique maps you see." Tim stumbled, crashing to the ground behind the counter. He got the man's meaning well enough. "People aren't maps!" "Oh but they are. Every little line on your face, every scar and mole," he reached out, running a hand lightly over the boy's face. "Tells a story; your skin becomes a map of your life. And I, am the Map Maker." A silver gleam in his other hand drew Tim's eye. He screamed as the knife flashed toward him. "Yes, you will make a fine map indeed." Crooning softly, he dragged the body into the back and set to work.

luna_the_shiekah

Gender

Points 890

Reviews 72

Wed May 02, 2007 4:22 am

luna_the_shiekah says... · Wed May 02, 2007 4:22 am

*whistles* Woooo. Now that was a delightful piece of twisted literature. Yum. I have to agree with all the critiques that Trident made since those were the ones I was to remark upon myself.

But wow, I was under the impression that he was off on a quest too! But nope, the old man shanks him because he's too cheap to buy actual map paper. :] Just teasing.

Great work Jigs!

I cannot name this
I cannot explain this
and I really don't want to
just call me shameless.
-Ani Di Franco "Shameless"

Quote